A resounding smash of glass came from upstairs. Adye had a silvery glimpse of a little revolver half out of Kemp’s pocket. “It’s a window, upstairs!” said Kemp, and led the way up. There came a second smash while they were still on the staircase. When they reached the study they found two of the three windows smashed, half the room littered with splintered glass, and one big flint lying on the writing table. The two men stopped in the doorway, contemplating the wreckage. Kemp swore again, and as he did so the third window went with a snap like a pistol, hung starred for a moment, and collapsed in jagged, shivering triangles into the room. “What’s this for?” said Adye. “It’s a beginning,” said Kemp. “There’s no way of climbing up here?” “Not for a cat,” said Kemp. “No shutters?” “Not here. All the downstairs rooms—Hullo!” Smash, and then whack of boards hit hard came from downstairs. “Confound him!” said Kemp. “That must be—yes—it’s one of the bedrooms. He’s going to do all the house. But he’s a fool. The shutters are up, and the glass will fall outside. He’ll cut his feet.” Another window proclaimed its destruction. The two men stood on the landing perplexed. “I have it!” said Adye. “Let me have a stick or something, and I’ll go down to the station and get the bloodhounds put on. That ought to settle him! They’re hard by—not ten minutes—” Another window went the way of its fellows. “You haven’t a revolver?” asked Adye. Kemp’s hand went to his pocket. Then he hesitated. “I haven’t one—at least to spare.” “I’ll bring it back,” said Adye, “you’ll be safe here.” Kemp, ashamed of his momentary lapse from truthfulness, handed him the weapon. “Now for the door,” said Adye. As they stood hesitating in the hall, they heard one of the first-floor bedroom windows crack and clash. Kemp went to the door and began to slip the bolts as silently as possible. His face was a little paler than usual. “You must step straight out,” said Kemp. In another moment Adye was on the doorstep and the bolts were dropping back into the staples. He hesitated for a moment, feeling more comfortable with his back against the door. Then he marched, upright and square, down the steps. He crossed the lawn and approached the gate. A little breeze seemed to ripple over the grass. Something moved near him. “Stop a bit,” said a Voice, and Adye stopped dead and his hand tightened on the revolver. “Well?” said Adye, white and grim, and every nerve tense. “Oblige me by going back to the house,” said the Voice, as tense and grim as Adye’s. “Sorry,” said Adye a little hoarsely, and moistened his lips with his tongue. The Voice was on his left front, he thought. Suppose he were to take his luck with a shot? “What are you going for?” said the Voice, and there was a quick movement of the two, and a flash of sunlight from the open lip of Adye’s pocket.